The Sunflower House
by kheelwithit
Summary: Lovino hasn't seen his father in Italy for years. For a good reason, too. When he goes senile, its up to him as the oldest to sort out the affairs. Guided only by doofus Antonio and his useless art genius of a brother, he goes back to a yellow house. Chapter One: Gazpacho.
1. Gazpacho

The Sunflower House

Chapter One

Gazpacho

"At the risk of sounding cliche, how does that make you feel?"

In all honesty, today has been so shifty, I aughta be on the other end of this fuckin' table.

First, no breakfast, then phone calls from unknown numbers, being nagged by the supervisor, downsizing. Got rained on during lunch when my favorite pizzeria was shut down due to "pests". Then I come back here to ask some poor Finnish fucker a bunch of questions that tell him nothing and waste my time. All of this is because him and his boyfriend have unhealthy amounts of UST stored up.

"I... I dunno, lonely, I guess. Berwald's just so scary that we can't get past this point in our relatio- ,"

Blah. Blah bloopblah. Blibbitydooptydoo.

Amazing how nonsense makes more sense than this Tino kid's inability to talk to his shy ass boyfriend.

Bing!

Timer is done and I have rarely been happy to achieve such sweet relief that is the end of the work day.

I haul ass outside and ignore Deborah's skanky show of thigh as I pass.

Walking to my car is swiftly achieved, but once I'm in the front seat, I can't turn the key. It's too fucking hard to just buck the hell up and drive home. The culprit for my cowardice buzzes in my back pocket.

Feliciano.

He's waiting for me, but still, I can't bring myself to go.

I haven't seen him science I was sixteen.

_I'm 22._

That's an assholishly long time to leave your little brother.

He hopped a plane all way from Florence just to talk to me.

There's only one person capable of making him leave whatever the hell he's working on to visit me in bleeding Seattle.

And I just can't make myself do what Feliciano wants me to.

Even worse though is that he's meeting that damn bastard Antonio.

Even after waiting, the phone's still buzzing.

Click

"Whaddaya want?"

"Eeeh~ Lovino! I'm waitin' for you, so hurry home! Your friend Antoine- "

Mumble Mumble

"Oh, oopsie, _Antonio_, is making dinner, isn't that great? "

Is it great that my only awkward discussion stopper is gone? No.

"Y-yeah... great,"

" ...ok then Lovi, hurry home,"

Now I have to start the car. Turning the key in the ignition almost causes physical pain, but being a pussy is unacceptable, so I manage.

The drive home is filled with tension so thick you could serve it with gazpacho.

And I'm the only one in the car.

That's fuckin sad.

Opening my own door is so motherfucking nervewracking it Makes feelings of anxiety before unknown to mankind . A sense of nostalgia runs through me.

And not the cheery kind either.

The one you swear to God almighty will drown you in tidalwave of bad memories.

"Lovi~ buenas tardes~ "

Nausea fades as I remember that even if wort comes to worst, that damn Spaniard will be there.

"'Snot my name.."

"Veee~ welcome home Lovino!"

Feliciano's hug feels like coming home a thousand times more than walking through my front door does, and I hug him back fiercely because doing otherwise would be akin stopping thought.

"H-Hey Feli, "

He lets go of everything but my hand and pulls me inside further to the tiny kitchen where Antonio is stirring something in a bowl... with the fridge wide open.

"Shut the fucking fridge dumbass, what, did your mother drop you on your head or do just like running up our bills, eh? Your mother raised you in a barn, did she?"

"Mou~ Lovino, my mother would never have been so neglectful as to raise me in a barn," he slams the door shut with his foot.

It is noted that he did not deny being dropped on his head. Either way though, the fridge is closed.

I turn to examine what 'tonio is cooking, but from the corner if my eye I can see Feliciano opening his mouth for what he traveled _all the way from Firenze to talk about. _

_Oh, hello nausea, didn't think you'd be back so quick._

Evasion tactic number 7:

Change clothes

"Lovi, I wanted to talk to you-"

NO! Wait, there's still time.

"Hold that thought, I'm gonna go change k?"

Escape motherfucking successful.

Being in my room brings only a little bit more comfort than being exposed in the kitchen.

What is the world coming to when you don't feel comfortable in your own room?

I lean against the warm window pane and let my cheek absorb the Seattle heat that slips seamlessly into everything in its own humid way.

The moments pass with my face pressed into the glass,

And Feliciano sure as hell knows I'm hiding.

It probably hurts his feelings.

But he's gonna have to try hella hard to get me to talk.

And that thought gives me the strength to actually do what I said I came here to do.

Shuffling into sweats and a wife beater takes a shorter amount of time though, and my courage fucking slips away.

Sometimes I can't decide if I'm a man or a mouse.

But I have no problems deciding that I'm sure I can stay here a few more minutes.

Knock Knock

"Lovi, are you ok?"

Bastardo Antonio. Always deciding for me.

"Che, coming,"

Antonio's face makes me feel a little bad, and I can only imagine what Feli's stupid face will make me do.

So I make sure to look away pointedly when I sit at the tiny table.

I pick up my spoon, and dig into...

Gazpacho.

Funny. I remember thinking something about this earlier.

Ah fuck, there's no bread.

This is fucking unacceptable.

"Forgot the bread huh?"

"Mm, sorry~ the bread machine broke, so no more bread for a bit eh?"

Fuck. That was the only great thing about this house. Now it's gone.

For a while, we sit awkwardly in the annoying as shit sound of spoons klinking quietly against ceramic bowls

"LovinoIneedtotalktoyouaboutsomething"

Comes out of my brother's mouth rapid fire.

But Lovino Vargas is a master of avoidance.

I pull Evasion tactic no. 1

Go to the bathroom.

and so I shoot off without bothering with an excuse.

Locking ones self in is a natural response to pressure.

Using the panic position to stave off what I think is panic is also perfectly acceptable .

Knock Knock

"Lovino, open up por favor, "

"No,"

"Lovi, come out here right now, your brother came all this way to just _talk_ to you. _Just_ you. And you won't even _listen_! That's _reaaaaaaaly_ wrong Lovino,"

Bang bang

I must've been gone when they crowned Antonio my mother, cause I sure as hell don't remember.

I don't dignify him with an answer and instead wonder if I can fit through the tiny window of the bathroom And reach the tree outside. If I can I have a pretty good chance at reaching the branch, sliding down and getting the fuck outta here.

Bang bang

"Really Lovino? The silent treatment? You are being _childish_! Don't you think you should ju- _you better not be thinking about jumping out the window! " _

Bang Bang Bang

Damn! Foiled again.

I stop with my foot on the toilet seat.

the banging stops with me.

And I scramble to open the window.

The only reason he would stop is because he found a better way to get me out.

Antonio is getting a _hanger_.

A wire one.

To unlock the door.

The steps away from the door are inaudible now and my foot is on the sceptic tank and half of my torso is through this skinny ass window and my eyes are squeezed closed and praying to God that I'm not as fat as I feel right now.

A familiar cough snaps my eyes open and the sound echoes in my head .

Feliciano is on the ground staring up at my torso hanging out of a fucking second story bathroom window.

Immediately, I tense to begin to wiggle the other way and escape through the other route.

A point nudges me in my ass.

Antonio and his FUCKING WIRE HANGER.

They got me.

Five minutes later I sit back at the table, the doorway guarded by Antonio and Feliciano staring at me sadly.

I have given up on any hope of escape and decided to focus on my gazpacho instead.

"Fratello, does it really upset you so much that I came here?"

"Che, don't be a dumbass."

Hey would you look at that, we have a new crack in the ceiling, and I think that's mold.

"Then talk with me, per favore,"

"No, not gonna happen Feliciano. "

Another bite of the soup.

At least they won't nag me about my soup getting cold.

Jokes kinda fall flat in this atmosphere.

" You don't even know wha-"

"But I DO!"

"Then you should have no problem going ba-"

"NO! I WONT FUCKING GO!"

My palms hurt from slamming them on the table

I rub the before returning to my soup,

This time staring at my knife.

Maybe I can cut the tension in the air and use it to sop up my soup.

Not like there's any bread

It'll probably taste like shit though.

An: gazpacho is a Spanish soup served cold. It's filled with copious amounts of veggies and is commonly eaten in the summer with a side of bread. Tension is not an acceptable substitute. Tension tastes like gym socks and rotten fish tacos.

Wire hangers can be used to pick simple locks.


	2. Baba au Rhum e Cafe

The Sunflower House

Chapter two

Cafè e Baba Au Rhum

Feliciano's face has a miraculous ability to make you feel so bad with is big Brown eyes that you feel like you have shanked a puppy, and then been shanked in return.

Staying firm on your point requires a steel heart and a will of iron.

Neither of these are qualities I posses.

Which is why I cannot sleep at two thirty eight in the morning

I am contemplating what I previously believed to be incontemplatable.

Going back to Italy. To see my father.

I blink and its like I can hear it. All of it

My dad was in the military.

He joined to get away from my mother, who he married for God knows what reason.

_Joining the army for what? You make enough mon- Oh, I.. I see... whatever... do what you want._

As tiny kids, Feli and I stayed with my mother.

_Papa isn't here now. Mama says he's bein' brave way away._

My father was always deployed, so we never knew anything about him exept old high school pictures

_This's your pa, he used to ask me to do his homework, ya'know? _

She didn't take care of us too well.

_No food, Lovi... I'm hungry_

Only had a high school diploma when she married my stupid father, so no good job.

My father never sent her any money either.

_Can't you send a little for God's sake? We need it Romulus. Badly. I can't afford daycare with a bartending job._

She turned to more unsavoury ways of making money.

_Twenty for a dime bag. Can I give you another sort of blow with that sweetie?_

They sent US to my father when Feliciano started drawing some of the stuff he saw our mom doing.

_And that's mama at work, she always says she works hard for US, but she sounds like she's having tons of fun. _

I used to really hate him for it.

He was a really good artist, you know.

When they flew us over to my father, Feliciano was 6. I was 9. Nine years old is enough to know that your father is no good when you see him.

Kids are supposed to have this crazy ability to tell good company from bad.

Which is why I don't understand why I didn't pick up that he wasn't bad news from the second I saw him.

I remember him looking so... charismatic.

The first thing he did was sweep Feliciano up and swing him around like this was a play about a pair of orphans and a rich bald man.

He took us through a thousand tiny twirling roads to a pretty yellow villa that he could, no doubt, never afford. Next to a green one and an orange one.

At the start, I genuinely believed we could do it. Be happy with a complete stranger.

The... oh God, the things he did... they didn't really start until about a year and a half in.

It was a gradual thing. It made the two of us nearly outside of our minds trying to understand what we did.

Maybe we were just bad kids. Manners were given obsessive attention and it took us months to realize that we were never wrong. I mean sure, we were no angels, but we were boys too, and boys don't ever get strapped across- no just everywhere- for not being able to finish dinner.

He only got more violent as the years went on.

Thinking about it brings more stomach pain and tears than one man can handle at one time, so I listen to Antonio's snores and try again to put myself in the present.

Feliciano's "vee"ing threatens to pull me back under and I shove a pillow over my head.

Why the hell is he even up?

Let him in your house and of course he does some weird shit.

My feet make contact with the tile floor before I register that I want them to.

I pull open my door and shuffle to the kitchen doorway.

Feliciano is making coffee, at, according to the clock, four twenty fucking seven

with my expensive ass machine.

"Why,"

My voice is raspy from hours of misuse and it makes me grab for a glass in the drying rack and fill it with water.

Feli smiles soft and slow. He's still fucked up about my yelling,

"You snore when you sleep, Ya know? Your room was silent. I thought you might need some company,"

He's quiet to keep Antonio sleeping. He couldn't wake up that bastard if he tried.

Even after all his time, he still knows me this well.

He snatches the glass of water right out of my hand And throws the water down the sink.

"You know you can't just have water and coffee together Lovino, "

"I didn't intend on staying fratello,"

"Well you're going to,"

The glare on his face reminds me that Feliciano isn't just the crybaby thirteen year old boy I left.

"Feliciano, I won't talk abou-"

"I wasn't going to ask,"

the glare is gone, like it was never there and I forget again that he isn't just a kid.

"I'll be right back 'kay?"

My brain acknowledges that this would be a good time to leave, but the coffee smells good and the tile is beginning to warm up and the sky is lighting up inch by inch.

So I lean back on the counter and stay. When my brother comes back in his face brightens and he tiptoes towards me with arms behind his back.

"Vee~close your eyes!"

He sounds like a kid on Christmas and giggles like one too when I let my eyes droop shut. His hands are cold and they give me unappreciated goosebumps as he unfolds my arms and puts them palms up. He puts a box in my hands, cardboard. I can feel it even if my eyes are closed.

"Open it up,"

Never really been one to turn down gifts, so I obey.

What's inside makes both me and him grin like idiots.

Nobody teared up at all.

Men just don't do that shit.

He brought me baba au rhum.

Motherfucker.

They're not even squished.

He's already pouring two cups of coffee when I stop being so amazed.

Three spoons of sugar, four seconds worth of creamer.

I didn't even teach him and still... he remembers.

I pull out a pair of plates

Clang

That stupid little sound shoots us years back as we freeze completely still and silent to stop from waking, not Antonio, but someone who's not even there.

The only sound is 'tonio's fucking grizzly bear snoring and cars driving through early morning fog.

Feliciano's shaky laugh breaks the silence first, returning to reality and happy as hell to be there. He whips the spoon out of a mug and bangs the spoon on the counter in a little rhythm just for the hell of it.

Because there was nothing to be scared of.

He scoops up the mugs and sets them on the table.

I on the other hand can't be so happy to be out of the episode.

Cause I'm not out of it. Not really.

It always feels like that man is just a few steps behind.

Feliciano is already at the table sitting with his back to the golden sunlight. It frames him and gives him a saintly halo to match his smile.

I laugh and pick up a little muffin shaped pastry.

And we spend the time like that.

Eating Neapolitan pastries with coffee at too damn early hours of the morning.


End file.
